


The Four times James Wesley fell in lust, and the one time he fell in love

by LittleSpider



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bromance, Bruises, Character Death, Chloroform, Cunnilingus, Death Threats, Dirty Talk, Drugging, Escort Service, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fellatio, Fingerfucking, French Kissing, G-Spot, Gen, Hair-pulling, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Kidnapping, Kissing, Major character death - Freeform, Missionary Position, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other, Poisoning, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Riding, Rough Sex, Scars, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Squirting, Strip Tease, Teasing, Threats of Violence, Violence, Wesley without glasses, Whump, bad language, romantic sex, suggested romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Wesley Schedules everything. Even Sex.</p><p>If you want a job doing, get a professional</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Brunette

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea for months and only JUST got around to it.

_“You're such a handsome boy...” chirped Mrs. Vistain as she playfully rapped Wesley on the knuckles._

_He smiled politely and set his teacup back on the saucer and looked to her._

_“You're too kind, Mrs. Vistain.”_

_She sighed and tilted her head indulgently._

_“...Tell me, are you seeing a nice girl yet? I don't understand why someone so handsome is still not married.”_

_Wesley smiled and shook his head, picking up the cup and bringing it to his lips. “Not yet, Mrs. Vistain. Work keeps both me and your son very busy.”_

_She tutted and shook her head. “Time waits for no man, James.” she smiled softly, picking up her teacup in her withered hands. “...Find a nice girl, settle down, and get married. And perhaps my Wilson will too.”_

 

The truth was, Wesley had no intention of finding any girl to settle down with.

Girlfriends, wives, lovers; Women in general were a complication and a distraction in his line of work.

If he needed to get up in the night to attend to a murder that needed some essential covering up, he did not need his bedmate to pout that it was late and that they needed them too.

Not to say that he didn't occasionally need an outlet for his sexual frustrations. He was not a man who had a particularly high sex drive, but merely one who when he felt the need, he dealt with it the same way he dealt with his other needs.

The same way he sent his dry cleaning in and scheduled to pick it up. Booked appointments for meals. Arranged to have his hair cut or to be measured for a suit.

He scheduled meetings for sex.

And no, not so called 'Booty Calls'. Nothing so base.

Nothing with any sentimentality and emotion attached.

No women to get jealous or needy or clingy and make demands on his time.

Just a simple transaction with a professional.

 

 

**The Brunette**

 

The usually met the Brunette on the first Wednesday of every month. Usually late afternoon when Fisk visited his mother and Francis took over for him for the rest of the day.

He placed a call to the agency he usually called and requested the 'Brunette'.

There were no names to use, he never felt the need for them and as he always paid well for a service well delivered, they saw no need to ask.

She was 5'5 with honey-coloured eyes and thick dark brown hair that fell to her waist that he could fit his hands around from fingertips to thumbs. A perfect hourglass figure.

She had perfect skin and thighs that were flawless and wonderfully shaped. Firm and soft and that made bruises look like flower blooms in the snow.

But it was her beautiful, round buttocks that made the Brunette his Wednesday afternoon appointment.

 

He would meet her in Room 32 of the Distrikt Hotel of Hells Kitchen and wait for her. He ordered her champagne because he loved the taste of it on her lips when he bit them.

He'd always arrive first and await her arrival, taking the view of the city, silencing his phone and getting comfortable.

She was always there by 3.30 prompt. She'd give a small knock at the door and when he answered she would walk in and press a kiss to his left cheek—nothing remotely romantic of course, it was merely a greeting.

He'd take her coat, hanging it on the back of the door and offer her a glass of the champagne and they'd stand for a few moments, enjoying the wine as he'd rake her figure with his eyes, making a mental map of every inch he planned to know once again.

She knew to treat his clothing with respect and usually as he sat, holding his glass of wine she would get up and sit on his lap, taking the glass from his hand and setting it down on the table before slowly undoing his tie.

He loved watching her nimble fingers work the Windsor knot undone, her thick lashes obscuring her eyes that were lowered and narrowed with such concentration.

The immaculately manicured nails on those long slender fingers felt like heaven around him.

Of course, once his tie had been folded up and put on the table next to the wine it was her turn.

He would start by pulling the zip down from the back of her neck, down the slope of her back, revealing the always beautifully matching bra and panties. She knew how much he enjoyed seeing a fresh set each time, and never wore the same set twice and always paired with black stockings.

Silk stockings, as she knew he preferred.

He would pick her up on his hips, hooking his hands under her thighs and supporting her as soon she was down to her lingerie and lay her on the bed, his fingers stroking the soft silk of the tights from calf to thigh, his eyes hovering over the swell of her breasts as they heaved against the lacy satin bra.

The Brunette responded well to teasing, he found as he watched her grow wet as he lay between her legs on the bed. He himself almost completely dressed and endlessly fascinated by the way she writhed under the ministrations of his fingertips as they slid over the tender insides of her thighs.

She arched her back as he brushed his thumb over the wet fabric, brushing the hot folds of skin, moments away from climax.

He smirked knowingly as he hooked his thumbs into the waist band of her panties and slid them down her thighs, keeping his eyes locked onto hers.

The Brunette was a slow burner. Perfect for his meticulous nature.

He did not trouble her for help as he quickly carefully shed all of his remaining clothing, throwing them with care over the nearby chair, dipping in for a hot lingering kiss, darting his tongue teasingly in and out of her moist, waiting lips before giving her all of him in one stroke.

To feel her quiver around him, tight and heated was bliss and it made him want to fuck her relentlessly into the mattress until she screamed.

But no...

Not for her.

He made love to the Brunette.

Sliding his hand under her back, he supported her as he pumped his hips against hers, his gaze hot and consuming as he worked soft groans and sighs of pleasure from her, the other hand supporting himself on the headboard as she closed her eyes, her hands braced on his backside, driving those nails in enough to leave ridges but gentle enough not to draw blood.

How kind and gentle she was...

This was merely the warm up and she knew the routine, not to get caught up in the moment, she had to save herself, more was to come.

He moved his hand to rub at the mound of her womanhood, his thumb teasing the bulb of sensitive skin that was raw and throbbing for attention.

Her breath caught in her throat and her smirked again, knowing it was exactly where she needed him to be, he had not lost his memory since their last encounter.

He timed his thrusts carefully, ensuring that she did not lose momentum, keeping her on the upward spiral of ecstasy as he felt her contract tightly around him and knew she was about to come for him. If she knew his name, no doubt she would be crying it aloud now.

He bent his head in low and kissed her passionately—biting the inside of her lips as his thumb worked more insistently only to feel her fall apart around him, beneath him.

She cried out, arching her back and forcing him closer to his own climax.

He pulled it back on a choke chain, pushing the headboard back against the wall as he held on...

Held on...held on...

_God, she looked fantastic..._

He could have spent all day inside her, watching her ride out the waves of orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm but he had to remain focused. To make this one afternoon count until the next time.

She fell back against the bed, her eyes hazy with lust as she ran her hand to her head, burying the fingers in her hair.

He stroked the stray hairs back from her forehead tenderly and looked at her. Basking in the glory of how perfectly undone she looked and how he was responsible.

She sat up, her legs parted as he knelt between them and she ran her hand down to him, caressing his hard, thick length and stroking it to attention once more before getting on her hands and knees, and turned and presenting what she knew he wanted, and had wanted since she arrived.

Her beautiful rear

Wesley smirked and at once stroked down her back, pressing eager kisses to her shoulders before sliding himself into her once more.

He did not pretend now that this was about her and she knew it. She was a professional after all. He wasted no time pounding into her, his right hand playing with her clitoris as she leaned back against him, their bodies perfectly fitting together as he held his left hand on her hip, pressing hard, wanting her next client to see exactly where he had fucked her and how good it felt.

He pushed hard into her, pressing against her G spot with each thrust, pressing deeper and deeper.

He came hard, shuddering into her with a muted grunt as she arched against him.

He panted against her shoulder, pressing a kiss to it before withdrawing and laying back on the bed besides her, lazily finishing what he had started as he stroked her towards a second orgasm.

Yes, he was the client, but it was simply poor manners to leave your sexual partner unsatisfied.

He showered before dressing quietly as she lay there, sleeping off the afternoons events—as per the agreement he had with the agency, he would never simply dismiss them. It was sordid to do so and leaned down to take one last scent of her.

Her French perfume, the champagne, her natural scent, and the scent of what they had done together.

To any outsider, they would seem as though they were dedicated lovers, besotted with each other and driven by love, but it was a transaction. Nothing more. It didn't have to be raw. Sometimes the romance was just as delicious as the sex.

He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek out of courtesy before leaving the envelope on the night-stand with the room key.

Not a word spoken.

 

 


	2. The Redhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Redhead

**The Redhead**

 

The Redhead had a wicked smile and green eyes and a pussy that made Wesley salivate.

She was Wesley's go-to whenever he needed to unwind.

Whenever he grew tired of Leland's tiresome whining, the Ranskahov's stench that was a mix of sweat, alcohol and dirt, and of Nobu's dire silences.

Whenever he needed to spend a few hours in the company of someone who wouldn't demand anything of him.

Whenever he needed to bury his head between the legs of a beautiful young woman who tousled his perfectly combed hair every time he had her on the tip of his tongue.

Wesley was not entirely shy about admitting that he was more than proficient in oral sex. It was a particular skill of his that he was very proud of seeing that he usually had every woman that he had ever been intimate with melting under his lips and tongue but with the red head it was never a duty, never an exercise.

It was a fucking pleasure.

He would call the agency and arrange for her to meet him in the nearest hotel. He would pay over the odds if she had a prior engagement, or if she had a day off and as she had not yet turned him down, he was happy to assume the arrangement was to her liking.

He would pick the nearest hotel that had at least 4 stars and pay up front with an assumed name before waiting for her.

Something about the Redhead got him extremely highly strung. His left foot would tap as he attended to his messages and calls before hand giving him a clear three hour window.

The Redhead was his guilty pleasure that he adored sinning with.

Hell, if he was still a practising Catholic, he would attend confession every day for the pleasure of having her grind his face for an hour before hand.

She would usually arrive, a playful knock on the door as he leapt to answer, trying not to let his desire for her overcome his usual calm demeanour but when she stood there, her red hair hung around her pale face and that wicked smile, it was hard not to smirk back at her.

Again, no names. Names complicated matters and names put people into dangerous circumstances.

Though he felt nothing but what was present in his persistent state of half arousal when he was around her, it would be a shame to find her dead body in an alleyway because of mere familiarity.

After inviting her in, she would waste no time at all, leading him towards the bed, still fully dressed.

She'd move a chair so that it was facing the bed, sit him down in it with a coquettish giggle and gave him a show.

And what a fucking show.

Unbuttoning the black blouse she wore, revealing the sheer lace bra she wore that did barely anything to hide the delicate pink nipples that no doubt he would be teasing later. She threw the blouse aside before turning around—always the same show, never growing boring.

Sliding the high waisted pants over her pert, perfectly firm ass—always the satin and lace thong that separated her ass cheeks. Blemish-less.

Wesley watched, his expression set, his hand to his face thoughtfully as he enjoyed the view. The pulsing in his crotch, the painful throb in his groin was a quiet melody, stirring to what he hoped would be an overpowering crescendo.

_Oh and she turned..._

The trousers dropped to the floor. Down her shapely legs. She wore no stockings. They were a distraction from what she knew he craved.

Biting her lip between her straight, white teeth, she beckoned him towards her.

James Wesley only obeyed one person.

But in this moment, in this place. He was open to suggestion...

He stood up, and given the fact his cock was pressing against the inside seam of his right leg, it was hard to make it graceful and took a step towards her.

She was 5'5 to his 6'2 and looking down into those mischievous eyes whilst trying to seem impassive was difficult.

She stroked along his jaw, letting her fingertips drop to the knot of his tie and working it loose, with perhaps a little less care than he should like, she threw it to the chair, his other clothing soon following until he was down to his boxers and glasses.

He was ice, and she was the sun...

It was futile to try and resist. He wanted to melt.

Hell, he wanted to burn...

He was in control, and yet he was paying her to take the lead, or at least pretend.

She smiled in a way that seemed cruel but was the perfect mix of teasing and promise as she lay back, sliding her thong off and revealing that perfect pussy he had been thinking about all morning.

It was everything he enjoyed about being inside a woman.

Tight. Hot. Dewy but not too wet.

He found himself kneeling on the bed, crawling towards her as she played the coy, inexperienced girl and knelt between those creamy, soft thighs, his eyes focused on the soft, pink lips that were barely visible.

She gazed down at him between her breasts, her eyes vivid against the white skin of her body, curious and beguiling.

He slipped off his glasses, handing them to her before burying his head between her legs.

She was already damp, a few droplets of her sweet juices clinging to the thin strip of red curls that welcomed him in.

He knew her well. He had spent hours knowing her.

The tight, fuckable cunt that he had spent hours lapping at in lazy afternoons as she moaned wildly—hopefully not all part of her repertoire—as he licked away, lapping and sucking and nuzzling at her.

He gently stroked the soft red fuzz that lined her with his thumb, admiring the way her soft skin moved, showing glimpses of the pink softness within, catching a brief glimpse of her beautiful bud of a clitoris, listening for her reaction.

She had teased him with that show, it was time to repay the favour.

A soft gasp told him she was ready, and about time, he'd been waiting for hours for this privledge.

He pulled back her mound a little with his thumb, exposing her clit before leaning in and breathing against it, taking in her soft feminine musk and feeling her tense pleasantly, her thighs flexing.

_Oh...she was going to be fun today..._

He began with slow, delicate licks that circled and stroked around her clit. Her wetness dampening his chin and nose as he used his lips, tongue and breath to excite her. Arouse her.

How men complained that Oral was hard work often left him in silent disbelief when more than anything it left him more than ready for the main event.

To excite a woman to a state of frenzy with his mouth left them awaiting what he would do to them later and made them more responsive—oh and the Redhead—she was no exception.

She arched her back, pressing against him, eager to get his already nimble tongue deeper, grinding against his face as he hooked his arms around her thighs, holding onto her and when she drove her hands into his hair, tousling he knew he'd found a sweet spot.

She was breathing rapidly, gasping as his tongue darted at her clit, now swollen and sensitive, he knew from the change in her pace, the soft breathy muttering as she held onto the headboard with one hand and his hair snatched into her other hand that she was close to climaxing.

He slid one hand from under her thigh and sliding two fingers into her, felt around for the tell-tale spot...He'd know once he found it...

She gasped, her eyes snapping open as she gave a soft cry, bucking her hips towards him.

_Found it..._

Smirking, he carried on, finger fucking her G Spot while bobbing the flat of his tongue against her clit until she broke loose.

A warm flood of fluid gushed out of her and all over his face and tongue.

His reward for twenty minutes of carefully considered foreplay.

The Redhead, was a squirter.

She lay there as he sat up, licking his lips, his eyes focused on her as he went back to gently rubbing her clit, working the last few waves of pleasure out of her until she shied away from his touch, too sensitive to continue.

He sat back on his calves, watching her shattered body shake with the aftershocks.

He doubted her other clients knew where her G spot even was and if she herself had ever felt it before he had found it for her.

It gave him a sense of pride that he could make her fall apart with two fingers.

She was fucking gorgeous lying there, her red hair sticking to her equally red face, it splayed all over the cream silk pillowcases wildly.

Her body blotched and sweaty, her thighs covered in cum.

He could have fucked her right there and then, but no.

Let her recover.

Let her enjoy it as much as he did.

She finally recovered her senses and gazed over at him, a weak grin on her face.

She knew better than to waste their time with chatter, it was a rule he kept with all of the women he dealt with.

He smirked down at her before offering his hand, helping her up and leading her to the bathroom.

She was not averse to showering after the mess of oral sex. She knew he was keen on cleanliness and although he had requested that she shower before arriving there, he wanted a clean canvas.

Stepping into the walk in shower he watched the hair become blood red under the hot water and moved in behind her to spoon her, his hands wandering up her body to cup her breasts as the other teased her once again.

She melted back against him.

_How the tables have turned..._

His fingers played with her nipples as the other had rubbed her clit a little less artfully this time, it as a mere warm up as they got clean under the jet of hot water.

She made all of the right noises as his fingers idly parted her pussy lips and explored the hot, slick folds of skin within, the finger tips softly penetrating the very entrance of her.

She groaned, a smile tingeing it with pleasure as his cock bumped against her lower back, letting her know exactly how she made him feel.

He leaned into her ear and whispered all of the filthy things he wanted to do to her.

How he wanted to fuck her until she screamed and everyone in the hotel knew what he was doing to her. How he wanted to leave her with bruises that she'd want to fuck herself over at the thought of how she had got them. How he wanted to bury himself inside her and make her cum again and again, and again until she was too tired to remember her own name and by the way she was pushing his fingers deeper inside her now she was ready.

He pushed her against the wall of the shower, half picking her up on his hip and pushed straight into her, the slickness of her pussy lips combined with his own hardness making it a hot, tight, smooth entry.

She turned her head to the side, exposing her neck and he savaged it with kisses. Hot, soft, biting kisses that made him harder within her.

Pumping his hips into her, watching her move against the tiled wall as she held onto his shoulders, her tightness gripping him and driving him more forcefully towards his impending climax.

It was the best route to insanity.

He watched her through blurred vision, her eyes in stark contrast to the white haze of her skin. Her leg wrapped around his waist, the heel of her foot jammed into his buttocks. It was uncomfortable but he did not stop.

He could not stop.

He would not stop.

He held onto the nearest stable ledge, a shower ledge and held her tight in the other hand as he fucked her harder and harder, losing all sense of care and consideration, knowing she would be bruised tomorrow as she held onto anything she could reach for support.

She moved into a different angle, slipping in the water and suddenly he was deeper within her and able to reach that delicious spot he had toyed with earlier. The hitch in her breathing told him he was hitting it.

He intensified his thrusts, making them short, hard and deep.

She was all but screaming now, her cries becoming desperate. It was almost pitiful.

Her eyes closed and no doubt rolled back as he grabbed a handful of her red hair and held on tight.

She cried out and a gush of hot fluid hit his lower stomach.

He buried his head in her shoulder, hiding an ecstatic smile as he finally came inside her.

Releasing what felt like a tidal wave inside her with a hard gasp and grunt against her breast.

As he slowly pumped the remainder of his seed inside her, he released her hair, moving his hand back to her waist, supporting her against the wall.

He felt her hands on his shoulders, they were shaking.

Her whole body was, her thighs.

He raised his head to check that he hadn't actually caused the Redhead any harm but she was smiling-no coyness, no playful flirting. Genuine smiling.

He couldn't repress his own smile as he slowly lowered her to the floor of the shower, neither of them strong enough to stand.

A few moments later, he helped her to her feet, evacuating the shower for her to finish.

Their transaction at an end.

He dried off and dressed quietly in the other room before pulling out an envelope from his inner pocket of his jacket.

He was about to put it on the nightstand when he realized she was stood there in the doorway of the bathroom in the white bathrobe.

“...would you like to stay the night?” he asked quietly. The first words he had spoken to her that day.

She shook her head shyly. How very young she looked without the make up and lust etched into her features.

“...Take your time. The room is paid for.” He directed handed her the envelope.

“...Thank you.” she replied quietly, taking it and stroking one of the corners absently.

He gave a bemused smile before leaving.

It seemed the devil hid behind the guise of an innocent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright you lot, I'm off for a VERY cold shower.


	3. The Blonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Wesley Schedules everything. Even Sex.
> 
> If you want a job doing, get a professional
> 
> \---
> 
> The Blonde

The Blonde

 

As a rule, Wesley did not usually find interest in Blonde haired women.

Perhaps it was a youth growing up where blank looking women with fixed smiles and bottled blonde hair would advertise everything from laundry detergent to perfume—it left him cold and disinterested.

However, there are always exceptions to every rule.

And his, was the blonde.

More and more these days, with Leland and his inconvenient perceptiveness and the Ranskahov's perpetual suspicions—it as difficult to remain buoyant for his employer without some sort of down time in the meantime.

Wesley, was by no means a 'yes' man. If his employer needed to be told a certain unpleasant truth, he would of course be the one to do it, even if it meant swallowing a great deal of the bitterness first and sugar-coating what was left.

On those days, he would grudgingly leave him to brood in his apartment before heading to the nearest hotel and ask for 'The Blonde' to attend to him.

To fuck away his frustrations on.

The blonde was the perfect antidote to the despondency from a contract falling flat, a takeover being pushed back, or someone's fingers being taken off by a pair of secateurs just after lunch by a pair of enthusiastic Russians.

She was 23, had bright blue eyes and long, honey-blonde hair that he loved to sink his fingers into and Greek figure with an alluring smile that was usually the last thing he saw before her lips sank onto his cock.

She was robust, and complicit with the sort of treatment she may receive when he saw her.

Never mistreatment, but perhaps not quite the same sort of 'romancing' her colleagues may receive. No wine waiting, no slow undresses.

Today was no exception. During a lengthy meeting he had endured Leland's baiting for a good forty five minutes.

Leland was the oldest out of all of them but his resorting to immature baiting whilst bored and unoccupied reminded Wesley of a child who was being ignored by his parents or nanny.

At one point he had turned to Leland in front of Nobu, Gao, Vlad and Anatoly and berated him for his behavior, something his employer had felt the need to address with him by asking him to prepare some files.

It had infuriated him at the time, but he knew that he had come dangerously close to irreversibly insulting a key, if annoying figure in their plans.

He only hoped, as he pinned pictures to a cork-board he would not be asked to apologize.

As it happened, the cork-boards were not required and the meeting was dismissed in his absence.

He sat with his shoulders hung as his employer approached him flanked by Francis and another one of his men.

“Leave us.” he ordered the men as Wesley stood.

When they had gone, Wesley did not even wait to be addressed before putting forwards his argument on why he had reacted to Leland in such a manner.

His employer did not respond, he simply inclined his head and suggested that Wesley take the afternoon off to re-cooperate and that the stresses that the past few weeks had been putting on them all had taken its toll on the relationships between them all.

He had nodded formally and taken his leave.

Francis was asked to drive him to his apartment but half way there, Francis was asked to stop at a hotel instead and to leave him there.

He had emailed the agency on his cell from the car and asked them to send 'The Blonde' to the usual space and have her wait for him with the usual terms and conditions and an additional fee for the short notice.

He got his usual key, and travelled up in the elevator. His blood pulsing in his ears loudly enough to be irritating, he had only one desire.

To release all of this anger in a semi-healthy way.

By fucking an escort until he felt calm.

It was better than putting 6 rounds into an old man's skull.

He let himself into his usual room and saw her, standing by the bar and enjoying a drink as she gazed out onto the skyline.

He walked over to her, letting the tenseness in his steps alert her to his presence and saw her turn slightly to look at him. Her blue eyes large and quizzical.

He pulled her to him, letting her drink fall to the floor and began to undress her urgently.

She stood there, an inscrutable smile on her face as he undid the buttons of her dress to reveal the modest panties and bra she wore for him.

He discarded her dress and looked at her, seizing her chin and forcing him to look at her.

There was no fear in her face, no panic. This was all part of a performance that she'd practised for, played the same role countless times—and was the Primadonna.

She looked at him with the innocence of a virgin, parting her lips and licking them with the promise of a whore.

He unzipped himself and sat down before clicking his fingers.

She dropped to her knees in front of him immediately and reached into his pants and began caressing him.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, letting the thoughts of today leave him as he felt her hands, her skilled practised hands go to work on him before feeling the tickle of her hair against his scrotum and her hot breath against the tip of his cock.

He opened his eyes to see her slide him into her mouth, the hot, wet chasm of her mouth as her lips closed around the base of him and took him deep into her throat was too much for him to simply brush off and a guttural groan from somewhere primordial within him whimpered out.

She wrapped that pink tongue around the head of him, flicking it along the tip, her hand caressing and slowly stroking his balls.

This girl was skilled. _Very_ skilled.

He felt the tension in him moving from his shoulders, his back, the back of his neck and arms down to his stomach, coiling and uncoiling as he began to pump his hips, slowly fucking her mouth as she murmured fully.

It was a sight he would never tire of.

He rewarded her with a gentle caress of her hair, letting her know she was doing exactly what he wanted.

She ran her tongue down the base of him and back up to the top, flicking idly over the tip before sucking hard on him.

He was starting to feel close to coming and though he fully intended on fucking her, he also wanted to see her swallow him today.

He gripped her hair tight and pulled gently, not enough to loosen the hair but enough to guide her—after all, he was perhaps being more dominant than usual today but he was not a monster.

She took the hint well and increased the depth and motion of her movements, deep throating him in a consistent motion.

He was feeling his climax building as he watched his cock move in and out of her mouth, hearing her struggle to swallow around him, seeing her saliva drip down his cock and into the base of his cock until finally he felt himself coming. He gave her a sharp tug in her hair to give her warning, the opportunity to pull off if she wanted.

He climaxed hard, pushing into her throat, spilling into her mouth with all of the force and tension he had been carrying all day. He didn't realize until he was biting the back of his own hand that he had shouted loudly as he came and that she was now swallowing him.

He watched as she took a tissue from the complimentary box and looked to him, her mascara running a little from the effort of taking his impressive length into her throat.

He smiled slightly and leaned forwards, taking a tissue and gently dabbing her eyes in an act of gentleness.

Yes, he had face-fucked her a little more aggressively than usual, but he didn't wish to give the impression he was angry at her—far from it, she had probably saved Leland's life with her impressive oral skills.

Of course, now that she had dealt with his tension, it was time to repay the favor.

He looked at her, her breasts that were now half out of their balconette bra, the lacy white panties that barely concealed what it intended to and stroked his cock again, watching her watch with curiosity.

He got up, discarding his jacket and leading her to the bar before urging her to bend over it.

She seemed to get the idea and bent right over, parting her legs as he pushed the now damp underwear down between her legs and gently caressed her pussy lips, leaning in behind her and breathing against her ear.

“You want my cock in your cunt, don't you?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I want your cock in my cunt, Sir.”

“Louder...”

“I want your cock in my cunt!”

He slid into her, feeling some resistance before pushing past it and stretching her out entirely.

She gave a soft gasp as she felt him fill her out entirely, the rear entry position perfect for more depth.

He reached around and parted her lips before stroking her clit.

Her hand moved to cover his and guided it to exactly where she wanted it.

He kindly obliged and moved his hand where she placed it before gently teasing her.

“Do I feel good inside your pussy?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“You feel good in my pussy.”

“Do you like the taste of my cum?”

She nodded.

He thrust into her suddenly causing her to gasp.

“Yes!”

“You want my cum inside you?”

“Yes...” she said pleadingly. “Please...just fuck me.”

He smirked and held onto her hip with one hand, his other hand teasing her clit as he thrust in and out of her, getting a good deep angle inside her that squeezed around the head of his cock almost as good as her throat it.

He panted against her ear, biting it as hard as he could without breaking the skin as she bounced her ass back against him.

“...higher, higher...” she pleaded, practically climbing onto the bar so that he could get deeper within her.

He obliged, wanting to give a good performance as a lover as he pushed the drinks off the bar to give her more room.

They went shattering to the floor as he fucked her tight little pussy hard, his cock becoming increasingly stiffer inside her slick walls.

It was going to be impossible to hold on but he needed to make her cum. A personal achievement for all of his encounters with the 'professionals'.

“I want you to cum around me...I want to feel that tight little cunt ache for me, do you understand?”

He slipped his forefinger inside of her as his thumb worried her clit persistently.

Between his cock fucking her, his finger and thumb working her and the growled commands she wasn't far from coming, he could feel her clamping down on his prick like a vice.

“...Yes, yes, cum for me. Cum for me. Do it now!”

She cried, her legs flying open as she came hard all over him, dousing his lap with cum and shaking around his cock.

He gasped against her ear and carried on fucking her, feeling her shaking and whimpering around him as he relentlessly pounded her raw pussy.

“No! No!” she cried.

He almost stopped and pulled out when she said:

“...Again! Again!”

She was coming again.

“Yes, do it for me!”

She climaxed a second time and this time dragged him with her, unexpectedly.

He flooded her with his essence and gripped a hold of the bar for support, his other hand holding her close to him.

She whimpered, her forehead against the bar, her blonde hair strewn about her face as she shook from the double orgasm he had just given her.

When he had regained the strength in his legs, he picked her up and carefully moved her to the couch before redressing to a state of reasonable dress. Slightly embarrassed by how utterly raw he had been with her.

He poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the bar and set it besides her before sitting on the coffee table opposite her.

“...Are you alright?”

She flashed a smile at him. Her cheeks blazing red.

“...I'm sorry if I was...a little rough.” he began, smoothing back his hair. “...It's not in my nature, at least, not from a sexual perspective. Its been a difficult day.”

“I'm more worried about the mess...”

He looked behind him at the broken glass, the alcohol, the bar.

He gave a low chuckle.

“...I'll have it covered. Which reminds me...” he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.

“...are we done?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

He nodded.

“Until next time. The room's yours for the night if you need to shower.”

She nodded appreciatively.

He picked up his jacket from the floor, dusted it off and replaced it, checking himself over once to ensure he was presentable for the journey home before heading to the door.

As he made his way to the elevator, her scent still clinging to his hands, he half wondered about texting Leland and how he owed the fact he would live at least another few days thanks to the oral ministrations of a 23 year old blonde girl.

Smirking to himself, he called Francis to be picked up and to clean up.

No doubt his employer would need him again before the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little rushed? Or is that the urgency speaking?


	4. Black Haired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Wesley Schedules everything. Even Sex.
> 
> If you want a job doing, get a professional
> 
>  
> 
> \-----------
> 
> Black Haired

 

Wesley often found that with his command of multiple languages, how utterly infuriating it was that there was no English word for someone who had black hair. Of a language so varied and intricate and rich that there was no single noun for someone who had black hair.

So when Wesley found he had an evening free, perhaps if Fisk was attending a meeting, or simply wanted to spend the evening alone, he called the agency and asked if 'The woman with the black hair' was available for an engagement. Of course, there was no engagement but it was a more polite way of asking to meet for sex.

Of course, for him, she always was.

The woman with the black hair was the sort of woman that if Wesley encountered whilst walking on the street, he may perhaps slow in his pacing and look for as long as he dared without drawing undue attention to himself.

It was a rainy night in Hells Kitchen with thunder overhead. He had called his employer to ensure that he wasn't needed for the evening and to reassure him that Francis was on hand in the event of an emergency. Mr. Fisk, as usual had brushed off Wesley's concerns hung up.

Wesley moved back to his glass of red, holding it by the stem and gazed out of the window of the hotel room, hoping that she wasn't caught in the rain too badly. Granted, she wouldn't be in her rain soaked clothes for long enough to catch a cold, but still, he preferred to wet that beautiful black hair with sweat rather than rain.

She arrived around fifteen minutes later and Wesley greeted her at the door by standing back and letting her step inside and removed her damp coat before hanging it to dry on coat-hanger he had already set aside.

She was devastatingly beautiful.

Had dewy pale skin. Full cheeks. Thick, pouting lips. Bright green eyes under heavy lids; A classic figure that was out of 'fashion' but was womanly in all of the right places and a soft husky voice that when it hit the right breathy notes in the midst of their meetings made him _almost_ worship her.

“I was hoping you'd missed most of the rain...” he began quietly, hanging the coat up for her. Small talk was not one of his strongest suits when it was outside of business.

“It was only from the car to the door.” she replied, moving towards him.

His eyes moved from her shoes that were still speckled with rain, up her shapely calves, quickly moving from her beautiful womanly body to her soft face.

She was smiling at him.

“...Besides, I knew that I would soon warm up...”

She gently caressed his cheek.

As a rule, with women, especially women he paid for services, he initiated any physical contact that was not specifically sexual—but his relationship with the black haired women was different.

Yes, he paid for sexual services. To have sex with these professionals who knew exactly how to make him feel magnificent in bed, to hone his own personal sexual skills, but he also paid for a closeness and a tenderness that would stop at the end of their time together.

That would require no more follow ups, no constant need. Just physical contact between two people—and she did it beautifully.

“...I took the liberty of ordering your favorite. I hope you don't mind.” he said quietly, gesturing to the table next to the window. “...It's been breathing for fifteen minutes.”

“Ideal.” she replied and walked towards the table.

He followed, pulling out her chair so that she could sit.

“...I was beginning to think that I had offended you...” she began. “...Its been some time.”

He pushed her chair in and unbuttoned the bottom button of his jacket before lifting the wine bottle and pouring her a glass of wine.

“My apologies.” he replied silkily. “...I have been very busy.”

She smiled warmly.

“Oh, I'll forgive you.” she teased before taking the stem of the wine glass in her fingers and swirling the wine.

He smiled and sat down, taking his own glass and sipping it.

The wine was dry, earthy, had a fruity vibe that lingered on the palate.

“How was your day?”

The question was closed. No real inquisitive, no need for information behind it. The perfect example for small talk.

“Tiresome. Yours?”

“Uneventful.” she replied, setting the glass down. “Until now.”

He set his glass down and looked to her, inclining his head and admiring the way she held herself. The seamless way that she sat with her legs crossed and how her modest dress seemed to scream sex appeal without even trying.

“...Until now?” he repeated.

“Well, you didn't invite me here this evening to discuss the weather, did you?”

He smiled absently and looked towards the window.

This back and forth. The gentle teasing. The small talk. The niceties. It felt like the calm before the storm.

It always started this way. No rushing, no peeling each others clothes off, falling into bed and have frenzied, frenetic sex.

A slow build up was better than any hard, dry grinding any day.

It was sensual and she excelled at nothing better than sensuality.

She got up from her seat, distracting him from his view as she walked over to him, the soft 'click-click' of her shoes on the polished wood and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and caressing his hair.

He put his hands on her hips, the firm yet still soft hips and looked up into her face, his face inscrutable.

She ran her hand to his cheek, cushioning it against her palm as he stroked down her back with his fingertips.

She leaned in and kissed him.

_And so it begins..._

She was a phenomenal kisser. The kind whose soft lips were gentle and caressing and who sucked his lower lip between hers and drew the breath out of his lungs hungrily. The way her tongue slid over his own thin lips, teasing the dimples under his lower lip and moved in and out of his mouth erotically, mimicking what would come later left him with a cold chill down his back and a heat in his stomach.

He ran his hands up her back, embracing her close to him, feeling the swell of her breasts against his chest as she kissed him, her hands in his hair.

She kissed as though he was the last gasp of air in the depths of the ocean and it lit a fire in him that only she could quench.

She broke the kiss, giving them both the chance to breathe, resting her forehead against his and pushing his jacket from his shoulders, her thick black lashes fluttering against his glasses.

He reached up and caressed her cheek with his thumb and moved back in for another kiss.

Harder. More desperate. The feeling of tight skin against tight skin, forceful. The barely there bristle of his stubble against her soft skin that smelt like Jasmine, his tongue darting over her lips and touching hers, the slick movement against one another that made him hard through his tailored trousers and that she would no doubt feel.

His free hand moved to the zip on her dress and slid it down with a low, lazy 'Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz' sound until it rested at the base of her spine, he tucked his hand into the waistline of her silk panties and caressed the bottom of her back, his fingers inches from the curve of her behind.

She gave a soft murmur into the kiss, her fingers on the base of his neck, stroking the fine hair that sent a shiver through Wesley that he barely repressed and instead pulled back for air, looking into the green eyes.

She undid his tie with efficiency that was praiseworthy, pulling it off and putting on the table before unbuttoning his shift swiftly, taking care over the buttons of a shirt that was worth at least $200.

He watched her work, his fingers brushing the dress from her shoulders as she did. It slid down her beautiful, creamy arms and to her forearms, stilling them as they worked on his belt buckle.

She shed the remainder of her dress, standing up and letting it slide down her body and to the floor as he pulled the shirt from his own body and let it drop to the floor.

He took her hand and tugged her back to him, letting her sit astride him as she ran her hands over his chest, as he gently ghosted her elbows with his fingertips, moving his hands to the beautiful skin of her stomach.

Not toned, or washboard flat like the women he saw on magazines, billboards or in movies.

Soft, feminine, pliable, curved and kissable.

He leaned in and pressed soft, sucking kisses to her stomach, her hips, her sides, his hands cupping the warm bulge of her ass, stroking the soft silk.

She ran her fingers through his hair with a lazy sigh, caressing the nape of his neck and stroking as he raised his head to look at her, resting his chin just under her navel.

She stroked back his hair, resting her head back, letting her long mane of black hair hang a curtain behind her as she arched her back, pushing herself into his lips.

He gave a small pant of amusement as she did, stroking the hollow of her back with his fingertips before allowing her to pull away and take his hand, leading him towards the bed.

He followed, still wearing his pants having slipped out of his shoes and socks and allowed her to take the lead.

For once in his very structured and controlled life, it felt good NOT to take the lead, and pay for the privilege.

She led him to lay down on the soft, satin sheets, the over stuffed duvet and goose feather pillows and climbed astride him, undoing the buckle on his belt.

He lay back, listening to the crispness of the pillows around his ears and the soft clinking of the belt followed by the strained groan of the zip against his erection.

She slid the trousers off with ease and bent down to kiss him again.

They were down to their underwear now, and though they had been more than naked in each others presence before, many, many times, what kept him coming back was the anticipation she could build with so little effort.

He ran his hands down her back, letting his soft hands caress the gentle bumps on her spine as she sat astride him.

He could feel the inviting heat of her that was pressing down on him from between her legs and he wanted so badly in this moment, when lust was racing ahead of his conscious thoughts and rational decision-making to be inside her, hard and surrounded by her slick walls but he knew that the wait would be worth it.

She looked down at him, his hands on her hips as he gazed up at her, as helpless as he dared to be and she reached behind and unbuckled the forest green and black lace bra.

Her breasts. Her beautiful, heavy, pendulous breasts. So full and so heavenly hung there on her chest, framed by her beautiful black hair. Their reddish pink nipples erect in the cool air of the room.

He wanted them. He wanted to bury his face in them hold them, squeeze them. Tease them. Kiss them.

She began to slowly gyrate on his erection through his boxers.

He gave a soft groan of protest mixed with approval as his eyelids fluttered closed and he held onto her hips firmly.

Her movements, the dull sensation through his silk boxers—enough to arouse but not fully awaken him, knowing that he was so close to being inside her twisted and shifted his stomach and skin. It took so much to not push back against her—but why give her ALL of the power?

Retaining the shreds of self control he still possessed was half the battle.

She ran her fingers down his chest to his abdomen, skipping over a hairline scar that was now fading to the base of his pubic hair which continued beyond the waistline of his boxers.

He looked up at her, letting the backs of his fingers grace her side, her ribcage, up to her hair, softly curling it around his fingers as he pierced her with a long, lingering, hungry glance.

She leaned in, her lips inches from his, her hair tickling his cheek but providing no distraction and said in a low, outrageously sexy voice:

“...Do you want me?”

To hell with patience, and to hell with restraint. Yes he fucking wanted her. He wanted her more than he wanted anything right now, in this perfect bubble of unreality where for a few hours he could be his primal self that desired such base things as sexual fulfilment and the need to be held and kissed.

“Yes.” he hissed against her lips. “I want you.”

“How badly do you want me?” she teased, no anger, just softness. Sweet, tempting softness.

He flexed his pelvis against her, feeling her through his boxers against his hard cock.

“...Must you ask again?” he asked, a wry smile twisting onto his lips.

She ran her hand down to him, into his boxers, taking a hold of him in her firm hand and pumped him, once, twice...the third time made him gasp involuntarily and he set his jaw, frustrated she'd got a reaction so easily and looked up at her.

“I'm convinced.” she teased before slipping off his boxers with a smooth movement.

He hooked his fingers into the wristband of her panties and slid them down her thighs, keeping his gaze on her as he did.

With a soft kiss, she discarded her underwear and in a fluid movement, moved onto his hard, erect cock.

His eyelids flickered closed as he felt her accommodate him, moving down onto him until he could feel the wetness of her lips around the base of his cock and against his groin.

His eyes opened again, hazy and lustful as he supported her back and waist.

She arched her back, lifting off him and then back down, again, again, each time gyrating her hips so that he could feel bump and groove of her against the head of his cock and it felt mind-blowing.

He ran his hands up her back, thrusting up into her, pushing hard into her to reach all of the way inside.

Being inside of her was more than a sexual encounter, it felt like a divine experience. A communing with something higher than the dirt and the grit and the blood that stained the streets. Of grease and oil and of filth that seemed to permeate everything around him in that god forsaken place.

Something beyond everything that lay outside the walls of this room, of Hells Kitchen and the world beyond that.

Right here and now, she was everything.

A Goddess in her own right.

He let his fingertips grace down her body to her pussy, he pulled back the mound of her with his thumb and began to rub at her clit firmly as she rode him, supporting her with his hand on her waist.

She gave a soft moan, reaching down to ghost his hand, to guide it.

He teased the nub of swollen flesh, working with her movements to give her the best shot at cumming around him.

Fuck, he loved the feeling of a woman cumming around his cock. The hot, tight contractions followed by the sudden gush of warmth.

“W-Wait...” he began.

She looked to him, slowing her movements to question why they had stopped.

He sat up a little supporting her on his lap until they were half-sitting.

“Like this.” he said, pushing into her again.

She began to bob on his cock, using her calves to bounce on, her breasts jiggling beautifully in front of him as she fucked him with shallow movements that teased the head of his cock.

It was bliss.

He bit his lip and let his head rock back into the pillows as she teased him into a wild frenzy, trying to hold on from succumbing, the imminent climax uncurling in his stomach and churning in his pelvis, ready to burst.

He buried his head in her breasts, sucking and kissing any flesh he could find as he felt himself grow closer.

And it would have been so easy to let go. To simply explode into her and let it all go, but no.

He needed to pace himself, he needed a different angle.

He supported her back with his hands, gently pushing her onto the bed and rolling so that she was beneath him now, her glorious black hair fanning onto the dark silver pillows.

He slowed down, his hands either side of her, her hands on his back. No nails. No marks. No damage as he thrust powerfully into her.

She gave a soft moan, feeling him pelvis to pelvis with her now.

She stroked down his back and arched against him, her breasts swaying seductively as he gave another achingly slow thrust into her.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deep. He could feel her walls throbbing around his cock. It was bitter-sweet. He knew she was close but knew he couldn't hold out for much longer.

She was fucking amazing. Splayed there in front of him, in ecstasy around him.

He leaned in and kissed her passionately, his lips melting into hers as she ran her hands through his hair, tousling and tangling it in her sweaty hands.

He wanted this to last for longer...

He wanted this for weeks and months...

He moved slowly into her, calming them both down considerably before moving her to sit on top of him again, his cock hard and hopefully at the right--

“Ohh!” she cried out.

He smirked knowingly, looking up at her, wanting to see her face as he brought her such consummate pleasure.

He knew that sound...

She held onto his shoulders desperately as he pummelled her G-spot again and again and again in hard, short thrusts.

“Come for me. I want to see you face when you come.” he hissed against her lips. “I want to see your beautiful face when you come. I want to feel you come around me.”

She let her head hang back, arching her back to feel him more within her, he moved his hand back down between them, teasing her clit once more with his thumb, urging her to come as she began to tremble, her breathing becoming quick and fluttery until finally she held onto his shoulders desperately and shook around him.

Hard.

The tremors he felt through him from her were rewarding but did little to hold his own climax at bay. He swallowed hard, and tried to force his libido back again, promising it a more satisfying pay off later.

She moaned softly in his ear as she recovered from the orgasm, as he kissed her shoulder, her neck, her breast—anything to delay himself from shooting off inside her prematurely.

She didn't make it easy.

She looked at him and began kissing him immediately—gratitude? A way of getting him off quicker? A way of slowing him down?

Wesley didn't care.

Kissing was foreplay, and forgoing foreplay was extremely inexcusable.

He lay back on the bed, bringing him with her as he carefully withdrew from her delicate and tender walls as she reached down and caressed him.

The fact she was masturbating him with her own juice made him harder.

He looked to her, her black hair tousled and her lips and cheeks flushed.

“Let me taste you. I want to taste you on my lips.” he said hoarsely, getting up and withdrawing from her touch.

It was not a question he was willing to wait for her to think on and she knew it as she lay back on the bed and he moved between her thighs and began to lick, suck and kiss her still quivering womanhood.

She tasted as good as she looked, sweet and warm and with the promise of more to offer as he looked up at her, his glasses smeared with her feminine fluids as his tongue lapped at the engorged clit, sucking the soft lips of her cunt.

She was shaking again, probably on the verge on another orgasm and it would be bad manners not to provide.

He hooked her legs over his shoulders and darted his tongue inside of her, lapping at her, clit the tender skin of her inner lips until he felt her thighs shake as a quake rocked her core again.

She keened as his tongue lapped up everything she had to offer him once more, until she twisted away from his tongue and lips again, too sensitive to continue.

She lay there, her breathing ragged and her body ravaged—a sensual crime-scene as he lay next to her, knowing to touch her may be too much.

When she finally regained her sense of reality, she looked to him, her thumb tracing the moisture on his lips and slipping it into his mouth as he sucked on it dutifully.

She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue moving to caress his, their tastes mixing, tasting herself on his lips.

This woman...

_This woman..._

He felt her fingers wrap around him and begin to caress him one more time.

He knew that he couldn't hold on anymore and that she was preparing to deliver a mind-bending coup de grace.

She slid onto him as she did before and began to rock her hips, sliding up, nearly off of him only to slide back down excruciatingly slowly.

She knew he liked to watch himself enter her and today was no exception.

She had very little by way of pubic hair and to watch himself enter her, and watch her slowly pull off of him....Those tight pink inner-lips around his cock.

He relinquished a slow groan, letting her take control of the pace, he was happy to let her decide the terms on how he lost his mind today. He intended on losing it fully.

Soon, she was riding him hard and shallow, his cock throbbing inside of her, threatening to erupt within her and when it did he wanted himself as deep as he could be.

He gripped her forearms hard, bearing down and forcing himself good and deep as she began to groan with him, using him—with full consent—to find that spot inside her that would have them both racing toward ecstasy and insanity.

He held her wrists painfully tight now, holding back an orgasm on an ever tensioning leash until it became too much and he let go with a yell that echoed off of the walls of the room.

He spurt his load into her, dousing her completely as she rode him until it was too much for him for her to continue and he withdrew, slowly, gently.

They lay there on the bed, sticky and panting for a good fifteen minutes until the sweat dried to a sticky residue and their passions cooled once more.

Wesley stared at the ceiling as the woman at his side, her naked form unabashed, uncovered, sex stained beside him lay there, her eyes closed, her breathing deep.

“...Thank you.” he said almost blankly, testing to see if she was awake.

Her eyelashes parted and her eyes moved to him.

“...You're welcome.” she replied kindly.

He wondered, if it would be improper for him to wrap his arms around her, to press a kiss to her sweaty brow and spend a few more lazy minutes in each others comfort—but decided against it.

After all, the agreement had been for sex. And now the agreement had been fulfilled.

“....would you object if I showered first?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

He got to his feet.

He showered all signs of that perfect encounter from his body before heading back to the bedroom where she was sat sipping some of the wine he had poured an hour or so earlier, wrapped in the silken sheets.

“...It's had ample breathing time.” he remarked, adjusting his cuff-links as he fastened them.

“I think it has.” she replied in agreement. “...And it's warmed to the perfect temperature. Although, I feel a chilled white wine would be more welcome at the moment.”

“I can call down, have one brought u--”

He swallowed and realized from her smile that she was teasing.

He did his tie up in silence, removed the envelope from his jacket and handed it directly to her before sitting on the bed.

Looking at her tousled hair, her vivid green eyes, the blush on her cheeks, it was very hard not to fall for her, but he knew it was post-coital glow that made him want to lean over and kiss her again.

“...I'll be in touch.” he replied before getting up and heading to the door.

“I won't hold my breath this time...” she called.

He opened the door, and with a smirk left perhaps the only woman he felt he could lose control with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easily, my favorite chapter.
> 
> But who has James Wesley's love?
> 
> Find out in the next Chapter!


	5. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out who has held Wesley's heart...and perhaps not in the way people expect...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: Excerpts of this chapter are pulled directly from Netflix's 'Daredevil' and all credit to the text goes to the writers for the episode: 'The Path of The Righteous'
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks and credit to:
> 
> Steven S. DeKnight, Douglas Petrie, Luke Kalteux ,Christos N. Gage, Ruth Fletcher 
> 
> All other work that runs parallel is my own.

  
  


Leland sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he straightened that ridiculous attempt at elegance he called a bow-tie.

“You burned him alive?” he asked, half exasperated, half incredulous, turning to face them.

Fisk had asked Wesley to do up his bow-tie for him given that he was less than delicate when it came to anything more intricate than a simple tie knot and Leland's relentless whining was putting him off.

“Christ.” he said when Fisk didn't answer, looking down to the floor.

Fisk finally spoke, blinking slowly. Carefully.

“I never laid a hand on Nobu.”

Leland's eyes did that insubordinate half-blink that he did when he was being cocky.

“So, you manoeuvred that masked idiot to take him out.”

Wesley looked up at Fisk, his concentration moving from the knot of the bow tie to his employer to gauge his reaction.

“Same result.” Leland continued, shaking his head.

Fisk was getting irritated, his eyebrows growing heavy.

“I need you to speak with Gao.” he said forcefully as Wesley pulled the fabric through the middle of the knot, a self satisfied smirk grew on his face.

Whenever Fisk grew irritated with Leland's petulance he gave him direct orders, and it pleased Wesley to hear it. The man was rapidly outgrowing his usefulness.

“Me?!” Leland continued. “...The hell am I gonna say to her?”

“Reassure her.” Fisk continued evenly, his hands behind his back. “Everything is fine.”

Leland was not done yet, he approached further.

“So you want me to lie...” he surmised.

Wesley looked to Leland briefly before returning his gaze to the knot.

“Mmm...” he began quietly, stealing a quick look to Fisk. “You weren't...particularly fond...of Nobu.” he said, choosing his words with care. “You...thought he was...unsettling? If I recall...”

Fisk was pulling the face he pulled when he had to hide a smile, despite the fact Leland was stood behind him.

Leland closed his body off a little, standing a little firmer as Fisk crossed from in front of Wesley to admire the job he had done.

“...I find YOU unsettling half the time. See me lighting a match?”

Wesley made an insincere smile that didn't make it his cheeks.

“Wesley...” Fisk began warningly.

Wesley made a face that he usually made when he was expected to do something unpleasant for the sake of his job, something that was happening more and more often before looking to Fisk.

“Have the car brought around.” Fisk continued, looking towards him. Let Vanessa know, we're on our way.”

“Sir.” Wesley said with an understanding nod before giving Leland an unpleasant smirk, a grunt of amusing and turning away to get the car, unbuttoning his jacket as he did.

Wesley despised the very earth under Leland and if he had to deal with him outside of their business, he would not think twice about arranging an accident to befall him.

Fisk with his fantastic mind for business, his knack for organization and his keen eye for seeing the beauty in all things, even the very decrepit and pointless.

He reached into his pocket and dialled Vanessa's number.

“...Hello?” came the warm voice from the other end of the line.

Wesley smiled.

“Vanessa. Its Wesley.”

“Hello James.” she bubbled.

“We'll be about a half hour.” he said, checking his watch.

“How does he look?”

He could hear the smile in her voice.

Wesley turned to see if Leland or Fisk were nearby and said quietly.

“He's wearing a bow tie.”

Vanessa chuckled the other end of the line.

“...How adorable.”

“Its a...unique experience.” Wesley admitted with a smile. “We're just getting in the car. I'd bring a coat, rain is forecast.”

“Thank you, James.”

Wesley hung up and prepared to wait for Fisk near the elevator.

 

*

 

“There are those that question why a man such as myself; A man who treasures his privacy would willingly subject himself to the public eye.” Fisk paused to look to his left where Vanessa stood in a long black evening gown, radiant and resplendent. Her eyes warm as she watched him speak.

“I question a man who wouldn't step forward, when his city; his heart is in such a time of need. With your help, we can ensure, that everyone that was affected by the recent attacks. And all who call 'Hells Kitchen' home, will see a brighter day.”

He paused, hearing the cameras click.

“I thank you, and please enjoy your evening.”

Wesley led the round of applause that followed, clapping heartily as he smiled.

The speech that he had listened to Fisk give, over and over, and over to himself, to Wesley, to Vanessa. Practising under his breath in the car on the way to and from engagements had never sounded better or more sincere.

This forsaken city was lucky to have his employer with its interests in his heart. A man who would give anything he had to raise this place from the depths of despair to where he felt it should be.

Fisk led Vanessa down the podium and to the main floor where people moved forwards to shake his hand and speak with him.

Wesley took up his usual place just behind, ready in case he was needed.

He clasped their hands, complimented them, gratefully received their praise with such humility and poise.

“I haven't been in a room with so many deep pockets since the junk bond days...” Leland said snarkily, popping an H'ors derve into his mouth, somewhat ruining the moment.

“...Leland.” Fisk observed. “I was starting to worry.”

“It's taken care of.” Leland said carelessly.

“Appreciate it.” Fisk replied swiftly.

Wesley did not like Leland.

He did not like him, and he trusted him even less. He couldn't imagine Leland acting in a dutiful manner with Fisk's interests at heart when speaking to Madam Gao and would have loved to have pried him a little more on what he had actually said to the elderly Chinese woman to placate her suspicious nature.

“Yeah, great.” Leland said turning to a young woman who was serving something sparkling and no doubt expensive. “So...” he said with a sigh. “Anybody need a drink as bad as I do?”

“Yes please.” Vanessa breathed, reaching for one of the glasses in Leland's hand.

Senator Cherryh came up to Fisk and began speaking. Wesley looked to one of his men in the room to see if he had acknowledged it and received a confirming nod back.

As a rule, Wesley did not trust Senators or anyone directly involved with congress. They were weak willed with greedy hearts and little by way of firm beliefs so when Fisk agreed to walk with him to discuss the zoning issues, Wesley followed them with his eyes.

Vanessa moved in close to Wesley.

“...I didn't vote for Cherryh last election.”

“Few people did.” he remarked, his eyes on Fisk.

“But he still won.” Leland muttered. “'Said it was because of the advice he got from Van Lunt and his crackpot astrologer---if you can believe that.”

Vanessa brushed her hair back carelessly.

“Van Lunt.” she repeated absently.

“He's the guy who uh...” he began with a disdainful glance at the ceiling of the grand room they were in. “..owns this mausoleum. 'Ask me it has more to do with Cherryh having his fingers in all the right holes.”

Suddenly, there was a great clattering noise from a few tables away.

Wesley looked over sharply and saw one of his men running over there to investigate.

A few seconds later, there was another shocked gasp followed by a glass smash.

“...The hell is this?” asked Leland, sounding more irritated than concerned.

Wesley quickly looked for Fisk and found him almost thundering over as a third person collapsed.

People started screaming and evacuating as Wesley called out over the furore.

“Wesley.”

Wesley looked up to attention.

“Get the car, we need to leave. Now.”

Wesley nodded and moved to find Francis to tell him to meet them at the side entrance to avoid any cellphones or tabloid paparazzi and get Fisk to a bolt hole until they knew what had caused it.

“Vanessa!”

Wesley spun around on his heel and saw Fisk catch Vanessa, she had collapsed and foam was spilling out of her mouth.

His heart almost stopped.

...They had got to Vanessa...

He ran over to Fisk, pushing people out of the way and pushing his own men aside as Leland dropped his own drink quickly.

“...Sir, Francis will bring the car, get her to the side entrance.” he urged calmly, an undertone of panic in his voice that had been steady for so much more before now. “We can have her to the ER in under ten minutes.”

Fisk nodded briefly and scooped her up as Leland began barking for people to move out of the way.

 

*

 

Francis threw open the doors as John and Michael followed, Fisk in close pursuit as Vanessa lay helplessly in his arms.

“We need a doctor! Now!” Wesley called, scanning the department for the most authoritative looking person there.

A black man in a white coat and gloves got a gurney and moved to look at Vanessa.

“What happened?”

“She drank something.” Wesley said, knowing that Fisk was unable to move himself to do anything but to hold her.

“What did she ingest? I need you to be specific?”

Wesley shook his head.

“I have no idea it was at the...uh...The Van Lunt building, the benefit—there were others.”

Wesley turned to Leland for more information.

“I had a glass in my hand. And uh, do I need to be checked out?”

Wesley turned his attention back to Fisk who was watching the Doctor check Vanessa.

“How long's she been unconscious?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe a little longer?” Wesley offered.

“...This place is a rat-hole.” Leland announced, looking around at the other sick people who occupied the ER.

“It was the closest ER.” growled Wesley in his direction before turning back to Fisk.

He looked so...helpless.

Stooped over her prone body, his hand on her leg, watching the Doctor check her vitals.

The most powerful man in the city, unable to do a thing for the woman he loved.

Wesley put his hand on his back to gently get his attention.

“I reached out to Doctor Rosenberg, he's on the jet.”

Fisk looked to him to acknowledge him then back to Vanessa.

It was all Wesley could do to help. Provide the means and put plans into action. Plan for worst case scenario and hope for the best.

The Doctor began to give orders to the attending nurse before looking to Wesley.

“You said there were others, how many?”

Wesley went to respond but Leland interjected.

“Uh, four or five maybe. Are you sure someone shouldn't be looking at me?”

Wesley would have had Francis put Leland's head through the flat screen LCD behind them if he thought it would remedy the situation but right now his sole concern was for Fisk, and for Vanessa.

Fisk went to follow as they pulled her away but he was stopped by the nurses.

He bellowed.

“DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM.”

Wesley closed his eyes bitterly, hearing the pain and outrage in his voice he had heard the night that he had yelled for Wesley to get out after his meeting with Gao and knew that this was serious.

Vanessa HAD to pull through. Her death would destroy the monolith of a man and reduce him to rubble.

Without him, the city he loved would soon follow.

The nurse informed Fisk that he had to stay and to fill the in the relevant paperwork.

Of course, he would deal with that.

The double doors closed and Fisk was stood there, crumbling, his impressive height already diminished as he seemed to lessen somehow.

Wesley moved forwards and gently propelled him towards some seats, nodding to Michael and John to clear some space for him and secure the area in case of secondary attack.

“Sir, She's in the best place. They're going to identify what was in her drink and find the antidote. Rosenberg will be here soon. He was on the first available flight.”

Fisk didn't respond, instead he sat heavily on the bench and stared blankly at the wall. Pain etched into every line on his face.

Wesley nodded and stood up, putting his hand firmly on Fisk's shoulder in a comforting manner before heading towards Francis.

“Is he going to be alright?” Francis asked softly.

Wesley looked to Francis and made a 'not-now' face before jerking his head to get him to leave.

Wesley looked to his watch.

It was going to be a long night.

 

*

 

“This is awful. Look at him. How's he going to run things?”

Wesley summoned a look of deep contempt before reining it in and looking at Leland disbelievingly.

“Not the time, Leland.”  
“This is exactly the time.” He looked to Wesley. “You keeping score here?”

Wesley made to roll his eyes.

“You think whoever did this was trying to take little miss hairdo out of the equation?”

Wesley closed his eyes to put Leland's theories to rest, but realistically, they didn't seem THAT 'out-there'. Still, no wasn't the time for wild speculation.

“That...That does seem unlikely.” he admitted.  
“So where does that put us? They almost got me, God damn it.” Leland said, his voice raising to almost perceptible level “All to get to the big guy, Christ.”

Wesley set his jaw.

The gravity of the situation was suddenly very tangible. Someone had poisoned several people, Vanessa included, to try and kill someone. And as the benefit was for Fisk, it seemed likely that he was the intended target.  
“Did Gao give any indication she was still unhappy when you spoke with her?”

Leland scoffed.

“Not that I could tell. My money's on the Japanese. After what he did to Nobu.”

Wesley shook his head and looked to Leland.

“The titles for all the buildings in the city block the Japanese wanted have been transferred to them, per our original agreement. As for Nobu...”He sighed, steeling himself. “...they believe the man in the mask was responsible for his _accident_.”  
“Right, sure. Well maybe he's the one who slipped a hot dose into Vanessa's Bellini.”  
“Keep an eye on their accounts.” Wesley replied, not wanting to rule out any potential threat. “If there are any sudden shifts, it might tell us something.”  
Wesley heard Francis' footsteps coming up behind him.

“Yeah?”

“ _Sir, three of the other people who drank the stuff have died.”_

Wesley took a moment to stomach this fresh information before nodding and looking to his subordinate.

“Thank you, Francis.”  
“What?” Leland pressed. “What happened? Is she dead?”

“No, but three of the others who drank whatever that was have...'passed'.” he said delicately.  
“Passed'. Always hated that description.” he grumbled. “Such a sad attempt to avoid the bare-knuckle truth.”

Wesley had turned to look at Fisk and how utterly broken he looked sat there.

Wesley physically ached from seeing Fisk so dejected. So alone. So remote. Unreachable. Helpless.

It was a violation of nature to see him so crestfallen. So deflated.

There was no other way, no other outcome other than a positive one.

“She'll make it.” he said firmly.  
“You got a Med degree in your pocket I don't know about?” Snarked Leland. “Why are you so sure?”

“Because she has to.”  
  


*

 

Wesley pushed through the double doors to the corridor that they had managed to hole up in away from press and media attention.

Wesley had decided to leak the story of food poisoning at the Van Lunt benefit and would name a catering company for the blame.

Yes, they'd be out of business by the end of the day but it was all necessary damage. It was damage control.

Keep the stories out of the papers. Nothing negative would rear its head in a few months time.

If Vanessa lived, she'd be the gutsy heroine of a near fatal case of E Coli and Fisk would be the doting man at her side. If she passed, and Wesley hoped with every cell of his being she did not, Fisk would be the mourning lover, determined make it right.

Wesley had realized, of late, that he was particularly good at spinning the truth into a more favorable tale.

He was holding a black coffee. It was Morning now and Fisk had not slept for at least 22 hours. He would need the pick me up.  
Wesley sighed as he sat down and offered the polystyrene cup to his employer.

“No...” Fisk rejected it with a wave of his hand.

Wesley was not so discerning.

He took a sip of it, urging the caffeine to waken his numb nerves. He needed to remain alert for Fisk. The situation, both with Vanessa, and with the security surrounding them was still critical.

Not that he doubted his men. He could have put a gun to each and everyone of their heads and their heartbeat wouldn't have even fluctuated when he asked them if he did it and he knew that seeing Fisk this way deeply pained them as much as it did him.

Francis had been biting the hangnails on his fingers when he thought he wasn't being watched, and John would crack his neck every so often and look towards Fisk.

They wanted results.  
“There was a time when I...” Fisk began as Wesley looked to him, leaning forwards a little. “I believed that I was complete. That I needed no one to truly understand who I am.”

Wesley felt his chest ache again, for someone who spoke so rarely, his employer had a way with words that were truly remarkably how they made him feel.

Little wonder the people embraced him so readily when they heard him speak from the heart.

Fisk was preparing himself to say something uncomfortable. Unpalatable and Wesley knew what it was.  
“If she dies--”

“--Rosenberg's in from Hartford, and she's strong. We've all seen that.”  
“Yes.” he almost wept.  
“Leland...thinks it might have been Nobu's men.” Wesley mentioned, attempting to sound offhand to gauge his employers reaction.  
“Fate.”  
“Sir?”

“It was something Gao said to me. I had to choose a path or fate would choose for me.”

“I sent Leland to speak with her.”  
“You suspect her hand in this?”

Wesley shook his head blankly. “Until we know for certain, I suspect everyone.”

Fisk was looking to the opposite wall, in deep thought.  
“You need to find who did this.” Fisk said quickly, in a deep breath.

Wesley looked to him, unused to seeing such profound emotion that wasn't rage present in him.

“You need to. I want to look in their eyes when I salt the earth with their blood.”

The misery that was reeling off of Fisk was so tangible that Wesley felt it in his own stomach. Seeing him so wounded, so very hurt, through no fault of his own. By someone who wanted to wound him, to destroy him so much that he would take the innocent woman by his side made him understand personally.

Deeply.  
“Understood.”  
“I told her the safest place she could ever be was by my side.”  
“This wasn't your fault.” Wesley interjected.  
“Well, she's lying in there because she was by my side.” Fisk continued.  
Wesley gave a deep sigh. Nothing he could say would stop this relentless self-flagellation he had

“We'll make the arrangements.” Fisk continued. “If she recovers, I want her sent away. Somewhere far from me and the city.”  
“I...doubt she would want that.”  
“Well, we seldom get everything we want. Not in this world.” he said, looking to Wesley then looking away.  
“But some of us deserve to.”

He looked down, to his coffee, wondering if he had said too much. If perhaps he had let the moment get the better of him.  
“Just move the appropriate funds into place.”  
“I'll have Leland attend to it.”  
“No, no, I want it done quietly.”  
“Handle it yourself.”  
“I'll have the papers messengered to your penthouse.” Wesley replied swiftly.  
“Thank you, Wesley.”  
“Mmm.”  
“I...”

Wesley looked to him, scrutinizing his expression, wondering what it was that he wanted, or wanted to say.

“...Thank you.”

Wesley offered a soft smile and a firm nod, indicating he understood.

Fisk sprang to his feet as Doctor Rosenberg came from where they had taken Vanessa.

Wesley got to his feet a few moments later, buttoning his jacket absently, and listened carefully, trying not to eavesdrop but needing to hear the news so that he could react fittingly.  
“She'll pull through.”

A weight lifted from Wesley's shoulders as a small smile and a subdued sigh of relief escaped him.

She was going to live...

She was going to make it...

The Doctor took him through and Wesley moved to make some calls.  
  


*

 

Wesley was sat outside of Vanessa's door, awaiting news. ANY news.

Yes, Rosenberg had said she would pull through, but beyond that, they knew precious little else.

Leland hadn't been back in contact and for all he knew he was dangling upside down in a heroin factory right now as production continued around him as he screamed for help.

Not that it mattered.

Just then his phone rang.

It was Senator Cherryh.

Wesley had a good idea what this was about.

He picked up.

“Senator Cherryh.”

“I don't know what the hell happened there tonight, but I have at least three very influential and very rich friends who DIED tonight.”

Wesley nodded, keeping an eye on the door.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” he said, impartiality in his voice. “As you are aware, we too have suffered a casualty.”

“Wilson's lady friend—uh, how is she?”

“She's alive.” Wesley replied grimly. “A miracle. The thing that I am curious about, Senator, is how someone managed to slip a poisonous toxin into the Bellini.”

“As if I'd know.”

“I'm curious why you're so keen to back my em--Mr. Fisk's bandwagon...”

“...I believe in him.” The Senator sounded, a little flat.

“You're keen to ride his coat tail to success. I understand that. Lesser men would. What you need to do is work with us on this. If the word 'Poison' leaks into the press. You and Mr. Fisk are tarred with the same brush and your careers come falling down. I think, Senator, you have further to fall...”

“...So what do we call this?”

“Food poisoning.” Wesley replied. “A severe case of E. coli in the h'ors derves. Have the company publicly flogged in the press and let small talk make light work of this nightmare.”

“I hope you aren't threatening me, Mr. Wesley.”

Suddenly, there was movement from Vanessa's door. It distracted him.

“Yeah, no, we're on the same page...I...”

Fisk looked terrible.

“...Let me call you. I'll call you back...”

Wesley hung up and walked over, putting his hand on Fisk's back.

“How is she?”

“Well, she...hasn't woken up.” Fisk began. Wesley sighed and looked down. “Rosenberg says that there may be complications.”  
“If that happens, we'll deal with it.” Wesley offered after a moments thought, anything was possible with Fisk's power and the money they had accrued. They would get the finest doctors and specialists available to ensure she had the best of care.  
“My mother called. Can you return, see what she needs?”

Wesley nodded.

“I'll take care of it.”  
“Get out of my way.”

Wesley looked up to see Leland, sans bow-tie, pushing Francis back.

 _How unfortunate_. He was hoping to hear that he had fallen into a pill packaging machine and was now being distributed to Hells Kitchen's junkie and wino populous.

“Um...how is she?”

Fisk made a motion something like irritation as Leland approached with what smacked of insincere concern. “ Is she, uh still with us?”

“Yes.” Wesley replied.  
“Well that's something.”  
“I don't want to be disturbed.” Fisk rumbled before heading back into Vanessa's room.  
“Understood.”  
“I could use a minute, before you...”

Wesley stood in front of Vanessa's door and looked at Leland appraisingly.

“What am I, invisible?”

“Did you speak with Gao?” he asked, pulling Leland firmly by the shoulder in what he hoped looked like a friendly gesture but was intended to keep him away from Fisk as he had requested.

“We had a chat, yeah.”  
“...And?”

“And what?”

Wesley stared insolently at Leland as he stood there, his hands in that tragic sports jacket he was wearing.

“She said she was deeply saddened and quoted a fortune cookie or some mystical shit.”  
Wesley sighed.

“Did she sound sincere?”

“The hell do I know? She was speaking in Chinese. I don't think the guy translating for her liked me very much. He kept staring at me funny.”  
“Funny how?” Wesley pressed, looking for any indication that Gao was to blame for what had happened.

“Funny!” Leland Scoffed. “Who the hell cares? She said she'd stand with us if it comes to that.”  
“You believe her?” Wesley asked, keen for any insight that may help him advise his employer when the time came to it.

“I don't know, maybe.”

Wesley crossed his arms.  
“We need to be sure.”  
“The only thing I know for sure is that he needs to get back to business while there's still business to get back to.”  
“He will.” Wesley said earnestly, nodding.  
“When?” Leland pressed

“When he deems it appropriate.” Wesley riposted with an edge of finality.   
“Well, doesn't that just fill me with confidence?” Leland declared sarcastically as Wesley sighed. “Do you think whoever did this just roll up the side-walk and move on? If they came after him once, they'll come after him again, sooner or later.”

Wesley took a deep breath and used it to calm his put out his smouldering temper before looking to Leland.  
“Go home, get some rest. We'll call if you're needed.”

Leland pursed his lips testily.  
“Sure, I'll wait by the phone. It's not like I have anything better to do.”

Leland walked off as Wesley watched him leave, sighing as he did.

Perhaps he'd have a heart attack while driving, plough himself into the side of a building.

Perhaps someone would spike his scotch at the golf club and kill him...

Maybe.  
Wesley got out his phone and started to call Mrs. Vistain, Wilson's mother. As he moved into a quieter area.

“Hello, Marlene? It's Wesley...”

“ _Mr. Wesley from the bank?_ ” came the excited, quivery voice on the other end.

Wesley had to smile. She was having a somewhat vague day, all the better for Fisk not to deal with her then. When she had trouble remembering, it made him extremely brooding.

“No, I w...I work with your son. We've met before.”

“ _James Wesley_?” she asked. “ _Oh! Such a handsome boy!_ ”  
“James Wesley, that's right.” he smiled.

“ _Is my Wilson there?_ ” she asked.  
“Uh, no, he's indisposed at the moment, I'm sorry. Was there something _I_ could help you with?”

“ _Oh no. I just wanted to say thank you for sending the nice blonde lady to visit me last night. She was so charming and delightful. And so pretty! Does she work with you and Wilson too_?”

“Wait, I'm sorry? Who came to visit you?”

He began walking urgently to the other side of the corridor where Francis was waiting as Marlene began to talk about how nice the blonde woman with the big blue eyes was and how much they had talked about young Wilson and how sincerely interested she had been and all of the time that Fisk's mother was chattering on about how lovely that blonde woman with the big blue eyes was, Wesley's heart was pounding painfully in his chest.

That bitch.

That FUCKING BITCH.  
“No, no, it's nothing. I'll see to it, Marlene.” Wesley continued, keeping the smile on his face and the acid out of his voice.

“ _Please have him call me as soon as he can. I want to tell him about the new nurse here! She's from Italy!_ ”  
“Yes, I'll have him call you as soon as he's free.” Wesley promised.

“ _You take care, James. And Sleep tight!_ ”

Wesley forced a laugh and nodded:

“You, too. Good night.”

The smile dropped from his face like mud sliding down a window.

He felt as though the blood was running out of his body and hitting the tiled floor beneath.

Even his lungs were trembling as the breath in them rattled around, shuddering.

He put his phone in his pocket and stepped back to look to Francis.  
“I need your piece.”

Francis opened his jacket without hesitation and slipped the gun from his holster.

Wesley put his hand over Francis' jacket and looked at him in disbelief.  
“Discreetly, please.”  
Francis looked around furtively as he slipped Wesley his gun.

Wesley tucked it into the waistband of his pants and looked to Francis sighing.

“Keys.”

Francis paused hesitantly but the stern look that Wesley prompted him to hand them over.  
“You want I should drive you?” Francis offered.

“No, I want as many men on him as possible at all times. No one goes in or out of that room without you checking 'em first, clear?”

“Yeah, what if he asks for you?”

“Tell him I won't be long.”

 

*

 

_Lust comes and goes._

_In the searing heat of a raging erection that seeks quenching in the depths of a young redhead, in the mouth of a shapely blonde._

_In the satisfaction felt between a brunettes legs or in the aftermath of a powerful climax inside his the Black Haired Goddess._

 

_But Love. Love was something so unspeakable, so ethereal._

_So beyond anything else, that it is often mistaken for other things._

 

_Like Loyalty and dedication._

 

_Like getting your hands dirty._

 

 

“I thought maybe you weren't coming out of it.” Wesley said.

 

_He had followed her along the streets of her street, having got her address from the crooked cops in the NYPD, waiting it out until he saw her. Skinny legs, lank blonde hair, walking around as if she had done nothing at all._

_As if she didn't even realize the depths of hell she had caused for his employer._

_But it was alright, she was going to make it all better._

_Pouring some of the clear fluid into the cloth, he folded it to keep the fumes from escaping and walked quietly behind her._

_It seemed almost unfair on how unaware she was, but why should she live, unrestricted, causing chaos all around her like the metaphorical butterfly that flaps its wings and causes a cyclone and not feel the devastating effects._

_She stopped to make a phone call._

_She was crying. From his place in the darkness of the alley, it was hard to make out the words she was saying._

_But she sounded upset._

_Upset..._

_Like she had any idea of the word._

_She thanked someone on the other end of the line for 'Caring'._

_Caring._

_He would show her, what caring felt like..._

 

She was drawing deep, ragged breaths, slumping to the back of the chair like a woman pulled from an icy lake after almost drowning.

“That would have been a shame...” he admitted, throwing his coat, his gloves—expensive items that would need to be burned, to a chair in the long abandoned unit.

The woman. Miss Page, went to get up, to flee, but slumped her equilibrium offset by the chloroform.

He gently held onto her, supporting her in his seat, he tutted softly.  
“You might wanna take a moment.” he suggested, stroking her hair almost fondly.  
“In the meantime, I...I thought we could chat.”

He sat the opposite site of the table she was sat at with a deep sigh and crossed his legs.

“You can't do this.” she croaked, shaking her head dozily.  
He looked around, as if taking in his surroundings, his hands spread to show her that this was EXACTLY what he was doing.

“And yet, here we are.”

She took another gasp for air, tears, or something running down her face unattractively.  
“You know, funny story, after the Union Allied article, I inquired as to whether you needed further attention. The feeling was you'd already done whatever damage you could, so it wasn't necessary.  
You were a...nobody. A very small cog in the machine. So, an offer was made through a third party.  
A legal agreement, one you signed in exchange for a reasonable amount of money. Well...reasonable to you.”

He leaned forwards.  
“You were supposed to go away, Miss Page. Fade back into...wherever people like you fade.  
But you made a choice and that choice has brought you here on this night, at this particular moment in time.”  
She made a snivelling sound.

“Perhaps that's the way it was always gonna be.” he continued. “Perhaps we're destined to follow a path none of us can see, only vaguely sense, as it takes our hand, guiding us towards the inevitable.”  
“Is that supposed to scare me?”she asked in an impudent tone.

Wesley shook his head.

“No, no...but, this is.”

He reached into his waistband, and pulling Francis' gun from his waist, placed it on the table in front of her.

It got the correct reaction.  
“Do I have your attention?”

She was transfixed by the gun. Blinking away tears.

Wesley was slightly bothered by her lack of response.

“Hello? Could you, like, nod or something?”

She gave the slightest of nods.

He inhaled sharply, redressing his jacket and steeling himself for something he felt he needed to say.

“Do you love this city?” he asked, idly.

“What?” she asked thickly.

“It's a simple question. Do you love, this city?”

“I...I, um haven't been here long enough.”  
“Huh.” he said, nodding, his gaze somewhere else. “I find a few days, a week at most, is ample time to form an emotional response.”

He looked to her.  
“Growing to love something is really simply forgetting slowly what you dislike about it.” he sighed.  
“I'll be perfectly honest, the situation calls for it, I do _not_ love this city.” he said, his fingertips tapping the table in synchronicity as he spoke. “The crush of the unwashed garbage stacked on the side-walk, the air that seems to adhere to your skin, the layer of filth you can never completely wash away.”  
“Maybe you should move.” she said sardonically.  
Wesley let out a laugh that was almost warm.

“I'm not here because I want to be. I'm here because I'm needed.”

She gave a soft gasp of understanding, it was not honest.

“By Fisk?”

He nodded, his eyebrows raising.

“He loves this city. In a way you and I never could. I don't expect you to understand that. There are moments when even _I_ struggle to, but _he_ does _very_ deeply. Almost, I suspect, as much as he loves his mother.”

There it was.

The expression on her face.

She knew. She knew now how she had got there, how she had been targeted by her own lacklustre detective skills and how the confused Marlene Vistain nee Fisk had managed to remember her, and report back to him.  
“Frankly, I was surprised she remembered you.” he began, leaning forwards, his knuckles resting against his lips. “Recent memories for her are fleeting gossamer often plucked from grasp by the slightest breeze. But you, you left an impression. 'The nice blonde lady with the big blue eyes'. And the man you were with, Mr. Urich, I'm guessing.”

Now she was crying again.  
He sighed heavily.

“My employer –Sorry, old habits....” He smiled briefly before his expression darkened. “Mr. Fisk as I said, loves his mother. He would be _extremely_...disturbed if he knew you'd found her. Even more so that you've been to see her.”  
“You haven't told him?”

“He's preoccupied with more important matters, so I've taken it upon myself to address the situation.”  
“If you're going to kill me just do it. I'm sick of listening to your bullshit.  
Wesley started to laugh. A genuine laugh, not because of what she had said, more because of what she thought he wanted...

“I'm not here to kill you, Miss Page. I'm here to offer you a job.”

She laughed weakly.

“So after all of this, I'm what...I'm supposed to, what?” she scoffed “Be your secretary?”

“The position I have in mind is a little more involved.” he began, his hands folded in front of him on the table. “You've proven yourself resourceful, tenacious, with a commendable ability to convince others that your way is the right one, the way that _needs_ to be followed, _pursued_ despite the obvious repercussions such actions may incur.”  
She laughed.

“ Is that even English?”

Wesley sighed deeply with a soft: “Hah...Simply stated you're going to convince Mr. Urich that everything is fine that you were wrong, that Wilson Fisk is a good man, a man this city needs. And then you're going to spread the gospel to everyone you've infected with your negative point of view.  
“I'd rather die first.”

Wesley furrowed his brow.

Was she THAT naïve?  
“But you won't...be the _first_ to die, Miss Page, no. No, I think Mr. Urich will have that honour. Then we'll go to your place of employment, see to Mr. Nelson, Mr. Murdock. After that, your friends, family, everyone you've ever cared about. And when you have no tears left to shed, then... _then_ we'll come for you, Miss Page.”

Suddenly, his cell went off in his pocket.

Instinct drew his attention to it and there was a sudden movement, a scraping of metal against wood and she was holding the gun.

It was aimed at him.

She was gasping, shocked by her own actions. Her breath coming in bursts.  
“Hmm.” he smirked. “Do you really think I would put a _loaded_ gun on the table where you could reach it?”

“I don't know.” She cocked the gun and gritted her teeth. “Do you really think this is the first time I've shot someone?”

Wesley chuckled, adjusted his glasses and leaned forwards to get up.

“Miss Page...”

A bite...

No...a burn...seared through his chest...

She'd shot him...

He looked back to her, in disbelief...

She'd shot him...

BANG

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

The last things that he heard, processed, understood... _felt_...between the blistering heat that crucified his body from his chest downwards and the utter shock...was the persistent ringing of his cell phone.

 

_Love is one of those words that you don't know the meaning of, until you feel it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing a transcription of what I was viewing it and filling in the blanks.
> 
> I am pretty much an expert on that episode now...*sob*


End file.
